Food Tips for the Holidays

 The holidays are upon us and that means lots of meals, both at home and dining out. We almost need a PhD in Culinary Arts to plan a proper menu these days. There are some obscure food acronyms that we all should be aware of as we choose our meals. I’ll get to those later. This is a good time to reacquaint ourselves with important eating terms. Also to learn a new term that I’ve coined to better describe where today’s food issues have taken us. As a refresher, let’s start with the difference between a gourmet and gourmand.

 

A gourmet is someone who knows everything about food, especially from a historical perspective. Her palate is so discerning that she eschews any restaurant that isn’t up to her standards. She seeks out haute cuisine and rare ingredients. You may be wondering what she does when she’s a guest at a party where the hostess is not also a gourmet. Good question! A true gourmet will travel with a package of acceptable food in her purse. After excusing herself for a trip to the powder room, she nibbles just enough to keep her stomach from growling until she gets home.

 

So, how is a gourmand different from a gourmet? A gourmand is someone who enjoys eating. Period. He’ll consume anything that isn’t nailed down. More often than not, he’s a glutton with nothing discerning in his palate. You won’t find restaurants that feature small plates and tapas on his dine-around list. He’ll probably turn down invitations to holiday parties where the fare will mostly consist of grazing on light appetizers. Chances are you’ll never hear his stomach growl, though it likely hangs over his belt!

 

This brings me to the third eating term, one of my own making: the gourmaven. You make have heard the word “maven” before, perhaps as a herring maven. A maven is an expert in a particular field, someone who is proud to pass on his knowledge to others. A gourmaven differs from a gourmet in that his field of culinary expertise is focused on the latest trends. Gourmets usually share their knowledge only as a way to show off their own expertise. A gourmaven keeps informed of all the new food information and trends and shares them freely.

 

Let’s start with some food items that a gourmaven should understand. You might already know about one of them, and that’s kombucha. I kept seeing it but I didn’t have a clue what it was. This is what my research turned up. Kombucha tea is a fermented, lightly effervescent, black tea that supposedly has health benefits. Kombucha is a SCOBY (symbiotic culture of bacteria and yeast). I still don’t have a clue what it is, but I suggest we become familiar with the acronym, just in case there’s a test somewhere.

 

I also see a lot about bone broth these days. It supposedly offers many health benefits, especially for your joints, gut and skin. It sounds downright creepy to me, like something witches would brew in a huge black caldron. I have no plans to make my own, despite what the so-called experts recommend. And it’s not going on my shopping list, either. However, as your resident gourmaven, I’m obligated to put it on your radar.

 

This brings me to my last acronym, one I bet you’ve never seen before. FODMAPs are short-chain carbohydrates that are poorly absorbed in the small intestine. They’re likely to soak up water and to ferment in the colon. Sounds yucky? You betcha! Don’t even think about what must be going on down there when you eat FODMAPs (Fermentable Oligosaccharides, Disaccharides, Monosaccharides, and Polyols).

 

Research identifies these carbohydrates in FODMAP foods: fructose, lactose, and polyols. That’s all your fruits, your honey and corn syrup, your dairy, and your sugar alcohols. It also includes the lesser known fructans and galactans. Those are not aliens in a Star Trek movie. They’re wheat, onions, garlic and all your legumes. So much for the guidance that says to replace red meat with beans and lentils in your diet and to consume local honey to boost your immune system.

 

This completes my food tips for this holiday season. You can decide if you’d like to be a gourmet, a gourmand, a gourmaven, or just someone who appreciates a good meal. Whatever your decision, if you’re at a house party, think about pitching in to clear the table and do the dishes after you’ve indulged.

 

Copyright 2023 Business Theatre Unlimited

In Praise of Politics-Free Zones

I was one of the organizers for my recent 55^th high school reunion in New Jersey. Just 40% of our class went on to college back then. In addition to college prep, the school provided vocational and skill-oriented tracks such as auto mechanics, shop, industrial design, beauty culture, secretarial and home economics. The committee members knew that the political leanings of our class range from far right to far left, even just among the six of us. We agreed to declare the event a “Politics-Free Zone.” We posted notices and made an announcement at the beginning of the Saturday night dinner.

I’ve spent much of the past two years alternating between semi-depression and extreme stress. The last thing I wanted to do at my high school reunion was get into arguments about politics. My best friend from grade school (also on the committee) is one of those who hold views one hundred eighty degrees opposite from mine. We’ve managed to stay civil on our Facebook posts and not let these differences affect our friendship—an increasingly rare accomplishment. The fact that we see each other only every few years probably helps, but still…

So it was with some trepidation and a higher than normal stress level that I reached this milestone event after a four hour drive that should have taken two and a half hours. The committee had a brief confab about whether we needed to publicly state no politics, since that was posted on two of the information boards in the room. We decided to do so, but low key, emphasizing that we’re all adults.

Now that the weekend is in my rear-view, I’m happy to report that there was no shouting, no physical violence and no sniping as far as we could tell. Everyone seemed to have an enjoyable time. We shared stories of various trips from one end of the globe to another. Some folks focused on their grandchildren, with photos to support their pride-worthy accomplishments.

Two recent widows who were there had been reluctant to come. I told each of them that she wouldn’t be the only one having had a recent loss. (We had a recent widower, too.) They were able to share their struggles over what to do after so many years with one spouse, and how they were finally emerging from the fog of grief. They were glad they decided to make the trip. The class had invited a handful of our teachers who were still around to be our guests. The event offered the chance for everyone to meet on more level ground at this point in our lives.

I arrived home after a stress-free two and a half hour drive, feeling as though I’d had a mini-vacation. As I thought about the weekend, I realized that a big part of my upbeat mindset was that I hadn’t turned on a TV for three days. I had no conversations about politics or the upcoming election. There were plenty of other things to discuss. Who was still playing in a band or had recently taken up an instrument again. Who had retired but was brought back by her company as a consultant, making more than when she was on staff and with dental benefits, too. Who recently became a vegetarian or is trying that Paleo diet.

There was a lot of talk about joint replacement surgeries. My husband (who had his second knee done three days after the reunion) found someone to chat with through most of Saturday dinner—the husband of one of my classmates. I think they discussed the economy and world trade—perilously close to politics in my opinion, but apparently not in theirs. Everyone agreed that the “no politics” rule made it safer to approach old friends to ask where life had taken them.

As you enter into what is often the most stressful season of the year, I urge you to declare your holiday "politics free". You can make a lovely little sign with holly and berries on it. And if Uncle Biff insists on getting into it with Aunt Edna, tell them politely to take it outside. You’ll thank me by the time you’re doing the dishes.

Copyright 2018 Business Theatre Unlimited

Holidays for Foodies

A recent ad in an insert in a local paper announced that September 20 is National String Cheese Day. String Cheese? Seriously? I could believe National Cheese Day (June 4). Or even National Cream Cheese Day (none, not even for Bagels and Cream Cheese, although Cream Cheese Brownies Day is February 10). But String Cheese? I don’t think so.

Contrived holidays used to be made up by greeting card manufacturers, so they were mostly sentimental ones. When did the food industries hop on this bandwagon? And why? What are we supposed to do on National String Cheese Day, other than eat more of it? Will there be contests to see who can stretch the longest string? Will there be String Cheese Festivals, full of clowns with sticks up their noses or in their ears? Will we have String Cheese eating contests, like the hot dog ones, but without the buns?

I did some quick research and was amazed at the number of food-related holidays in the United States alone. They went on for pages. Here are just some that involve cheese. For a complete list, go to https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_food_days#United_States.

We have Cheese Fondue, Grilled Cheese Sandwich, and even Cheeseball Days. Those are all in April. Then there’s Cheesecake Day, and of course Mac & Cheese Day (July 14), and even a Cheese Pizza Day (September 5). National Double Cheeseburger and Cheese Toast Days are both on my birthday, making for a cholesterol-laden double whammy.

I’m marking my calendar for the foodie days that will tickle my taste buds. On the first Saturday of February next year, I’ll be celebrating National Ice Cream for Breakfast Day. On March 5, I’ll surround myself with several bags of Cheez Doodles. I’ll mark National Schlumpia Day on May 24, if I can find out what Schlumpias are by then; they certainly sound like fun.

I considered putting National Tapioca Day on my list (June 28), since my husband would certainly join in that celebration. But then I saw that Tapioca Pudding has its own day on July 15. Too confusing. Besides, I’d prefer National Rice Pudding Day. Or Crème Brûlée or Flan. None of those made the list I was using, but Rice Balls did. Go figure. (What is a Rice Ball, anyway?)

Another surprising omission from the list is National Peeps Day. I’d put that on my calendar in a heartbeat. Maybe it was left off because Peeps is a brand. But then, so is Cheez Doodles, and it's on the list. I searched for Peeps Day separately and found several possibilities. One is the day after Easter, which sounds right. That would make it a floating holiday. True Peeps lovers know that any day you can find a box of those chicks after Easter is a Peeps Day.

I noticed that November 15 is earmarked Clean Out Your Refrigerator Day. But it’s not until November 29 that we get Throw Out Your Leftovers. That sounds like poor planning to me. I wouldn’t want the stuff I cleaned out of the fridge stinking up our kitchen for two weeks. Besides, November 29 is also National Chocolates Day. It’s a no brainer which one will go on my calendar.

The last three holidays listed for December are quite predictable. The 27^th is National Fruitcake Day. My mother made wonderful fruitcakes, by the way. The 30^th is National Bicarbonate of Soda Day. (That might have been better for the day after Thanksgiving.) And December 31^st is National Champagne Day. Or night, more likely.

Maybe I’m just old fashioned, but I think holidays should be reserved for the things in our lives that deserve to be celebrated. It’s great that we have not just Mothers Day and Fathers Day, but also Grandparents Day. (Great Aunts Day would be a nice addition.) The major holidays that match various liturgical calendars are fine by me. But—no disrespect to Druids and Wiccans, we don’t need to promote a Summer Solstice Day. And we certainly didn’t need a National String Cheese Day.

I’m Six Again At Christmastime

The Christmas season is upon us and I’m once again in high gear. It’s one of my favorite times of the year. Our family has slowed down on the gift giving, which enables us to focus more on the warm and fuzzy stuff. Since Jagdish and I expect to be downsizing to a condo next spring, I’m taking advantage of the ample space that our house offers to put out even more holiday décor than usual.

I have an entire closet filled with almost nothing but house and tree decorations. The first things I put out are usually the snowmen and Santa-like items. This year, I found myself talking to them as I placed them throughout the rooms. It dawned on me that it’s like I become six again at Christmastime.

Hello, Italian snowman (round belly, red and green hat) with your Chanukah snowmen friends (blue clothes). Hey, Humpty Dumpty Santa and Mrs. Humpty Claus. How was your summer? Snowman family on the piano keyboard, will your kids be applying to colleges this year? I don’t care that they never answer me. I just move on to the next grouping. There’s the Laurel and Hardy snowmen—one super thin, the other round as a pumpkin. Or maybe they’re Jagdish and Elaine.

It’s Christmastime and I’m 26 again. I’m unwrapping an ornament my father gave me for one of my first trees living on my own. It’s a brass mask from Venezuela, still in the tissue and plastic bag it came in. My father asked a co-worker going on a business trip there to bring back something appropriate for a tree ornament for him to give me. He was hugely disappointed in the mask. I think he was expecting a star. I always loved it, especially because of the story behind it. His name, spelled wrong by his co-worker, is still penciled onto the tissue.

It’s Christmastime and in my mind I’m 39. I’m unpacking the silver snowflakes and brass stars from the Metropolitan Museum gift shop. My parents gave me one each year, but my father picked them out. I’m missing the one for 1984. He died that year. My mother wanted to get the ornament for me, but it was just too painful for her to deal with. It was painful for me, too. I started buying them on my own the next year. In my collection over a 31-year period, the only year missing is the one my father died.

I’m baking Sunset Cookies from my mother’s recipe. I’m 50 and it’s my first Christmas without her. These cookies remind me of her. If I made struffoli, I’d feel even closer. She made the dough and rolled it into finger-width strands. I cut them into dice-sized pieces. After they were fried, she drizzled them with honey and I formed the ring around an upside down glass. When we removed the glass, we decorated with colored sprinkles and her “Italian” plastic holly. I don’t have a deep fryer, so I make her cookies.

I’ve reached my 68^th Christmas. I’m cranky. I have very little patience. I say things that aren’t appropriate to repeat here to people who don’t put on their left turn signal and just stop dead in the fast lane, waiting to make the turn. Also to those who drive behind me as I’m backing out of a parking spot in the supermarket lot, even though I’m already more than half way out. I back up ever so slowly, because I know some idiot is going to be in a hurry to get the cantaloupe that’s on sale yet again this week.

I silently give thanks that our family has cut way back on the exchange of presents and that almost everyone is on a diet. But it’s still Christmas, so I put up three trees. That includes the little one that is now Luke’s, but is full of ornaments bought for Tulip and Daisy and Lily and Pansy. Bittersweet memories.

We’ve been in our house on Oriole Avenue for 22 Christmases. Each of the last three years, I’ve considered the possibility that it could be our final Christmas here. It makes me sad, but I remind myself that Christmas is not a physical place. It’s a place in one’s mind and in one’s heart. No matter where we relocate, I’ll be able to unpack Christmas from my ornament boxes and bake it from my recipe file. If I can just remember where I put the patience I had when I was younger, it will be as perfect as when I was six.

Christmas Carols Redux

Sharing little known verses and variations on two Christmas Carols you thought you knew:
Deck the Halls and We Three Kings of Orient Are…

DECK THE HALLS

Deck the halls with greens and bows,

Fa la la la la, la la, la, la.

‘Tis the season to overdose,

Fa la la la la, la la, la, la.

Home baked cookies and peppermint bark,

Yada ya, yada ya, ya da ya.

Tipsy carolers after dark.

Yada yada ya, da ya da ya.

Tiny meatballs and cranberry punches,

Yummy yummy yum, y yum yum yum.

Leftovers for a week of lunches,

Yummy yummy—hmmm, and ho ho hum.

Oh, how good that eggnog tastes.

Slurpy slurp, slurpy slurp, drip drip drip.

Hail to thee, elastic waists!

Slurpy slurpy slurp and drip drip oops.

Months of dieting gone to hell.

Oofy oofy oof, y oof oof oof.

Today the scales reads… (I won’t tell.)

Oofy oofy oof, y oof oh my.

Fast away the season passes,

Blah blah blah, blah blah blah, blah blah blah.

Still can’t find my reading glasses.

Blah blah blah blah blur, blur blur blah blah.

Relax! Rejoice! Be of good cheer!

Fa la la yourself and yada ya.

January starts another year.

Yummy slurpy oof and blabbety blah blah.

WE THREE TREES

We three trees from Oriole are,

Bearing glitz from near and afar,

Field mice, found gems,

More glitz, round men,

 

Following shining stars.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

May you follow your shining stars in 2014 with peace, joy and good health.

Retirement Christmas — The Nativity as Told by Elaine’s Trees

In celebration of Christmas, herewith The Nativity, as told by Elaine’s Christmas trees. There are three this year: two large live ones, and the small artificial one that’s especially for the cats.

Whimsical animals, handmade craft items  –  Cats’ tree  –  Gold, silver, crystal and china

Most of you think it was an angel of the Lord that appeared to Mary with the news that she would be the mother of the Son of God. Actually, it was her fairy godmother who told her she was preggers.

Angel of God    —    Fairy godmother

It was Mary’s bad luck that she and Joseph had to make a long trip around the time she was due. Something about doing a census so the voting districts could be better aligned to the population. So they loaded her onto a zebra and set off for Bethlehem.

Not surprisingly, there was no room at the inn when they showed up without a reservation, what with all those alumni coming back. Fortunately, they found shelter in a manger, where Mary gave birth to Baby Jesus.

The birth was announced by a choir of angels and by angels with herald trumpets,

and by other celestial creatures with regular trumpets.

Bells rang out throughout the land.

The birth was so miraculous that it actually snowed in Bethlehem, but they couldn’t find anyone to shovel on Christmas Day.

Shepherds came to pay their respects, bringing their sheep along with them

They tended their flocks by night, but by day, they let the sheep wander all around Bethlehem. This was really tough on people wearing sandals.

The locals were a forgiving lot, though, so they honored the Newborn by performing a ballet for His family. It may have been the Nutcracker, or perhaps the Firebird, or even Swan Lake. The Bible is unclear on the details.

Likewise to honor Him came three wise men from the East,

who followed a bright star in the sky. There were several bright stars, so it took them awhile to find the right manger. Also, they were all men, so they didn’t bother to get directions.

They came by camel, ostrich and giraffe.

Yes, giraffe.

Maybe not by ostrich. It could have been lions.

Or maybe elephants. The Bible isn’t really clear on this, either.

More likely it was by zebra, like Mary.

The wise men brought gifts of gold, kesari incense (now the most popular brand sold at Spectrum India), and myrrh.  The last of these was often misspelled as ‘mirth,’ which is how we came to think of Christmas as an especially jolly time.

Less known are other presents that the various visitors brought with them.

Then God told Joseph that Herod was going to come looking for Baby Jesus, so the Holy Family got back on their zebra and left town.

(Note that the zebra is now headed in the opposite direction…)

And that, my friends, is the true story of the Nativity, as told by my Christmas trees.

To those of you who are thinking: “Yeah, right. When pigs fly.” I say:

From your mouth to God’s ear.

Merry Christmas, one and all! And Happy Hanukkah to many!